Secrets kept, secrets shared
by Alqualaure
Summary: John asks Sherlock about his past.


**AN:** It's my first ever story in English, so please forgive me all the possible mistakes I could have made in this text. I would be very grateful for pointing them out.

The story takes place during the night after the final scene in "The Study in Pink". The title I've stolen from someone, I guess, can't recall where I saw this expression.

I hope you'll enjoy it.

* * *

**Secrets kept, secrets shared**

It was 3:43 am on a digital clock on his bedside table when John woke up to the shrieking sound of the violin.

"Sherlock!" he called to release his frustration, though he didn't hope that his flatmate would hear him. Combing his hair with one hand, he ran down the stairs, to find Sherlock standing in the middle of their living room, sliding the bow across the strings.

"You want a cup of tea?" John asked, smiling maliciously.

For a few precious seconds there was silence.

"Yes, please."

And then it started all over.

John hurried to the kitchen. He covered his ears, waiting for the kettle to boil. Finally he brought a hot cup to the living room. Sherlock put aside the instrument and swung himself onto the sofa. John handed him the mug, trying not to smile with satisfaction.

He was half way up the stairs, when he heard the detective's voice.

"Interesting," murmured Sherlock, apparently to himself.

John tried to ignore it.

"I'm impressed, John."

Oh, alright, this exclamation was unexpected enough to catch his attention. John turned around and cursing himself, walked back to the living room and sat in his favourite armchair.

"What did I just do?" he asked with a half-conceding smirk.

Sherlock smiled at him and sipped his tea.

"Well?"

"'Well' what?"

John rubbed his eyes.

"It's almost four o'clock in the morning. Stop playing mind games with me, just tell me."

"It's interesting…"

"What is?"

"That you tend to think clearer when you are under pressure or for some other reason feel the urge to get rid of a problem quickly. In this case you are tired, and I'm playing the violin. Or rather was."

"I don't see your point?"

"You made the tea to keep my hands busy for a few minutes, so you can fall back asleep."

"Did you just… play the violin to test that?"

Sherlock grinned at him.

"'Right… I suppose I won't get much more sleep tonight, so you may as well explain some things."

"Like what?"

Sherlock's tone became slightly more aggressive.

"You know, it's a bit unfair that you know so much about my past, and I don't…" John began with a tint of complaint in his voice.

"That's because I deduced it, see, I thought about it and worked it out; I didn't rely on the others to tell me."

"You mean, I should try to deduce it?"

"'Try' is definitely a very appropriate word there."

"So you can laugh at me?"

"Possibly. Quite likely."

"Ok. Fine. I'll give it a go."

For a few moments they sat looking into each other's eyes.

"So… you have a brother, who is quite well off. Has much power," John started vaguely.

"Stop stating facts that were shown to you, John."

Sherlock's comment was ignored.

"I saw, what he can do. I guess, people who get that high in hierarchy, finished a good university, Oxbridge possibly."

"Keep going."

Sherlock was listening to him intently. It was intimidating.

"Umm… Your names are quite unusual. To be honest, very. Very unusual. So I guess your parents must have been a bit eccentric in a way." John paused, but Sherlock didn't say a thing. "Well… Judging by your attitude to other people and society, you didn't have many friends when you were young."

"That's a bit of a euphemism, but keep going."

"Mycroft is older than you, is he?" Sherlock nodded slowly. "So you must have been overshadowed by him, given how successful he is now. Did you study anything?"

"I did."

"What was it then?"

"You tell me."

"Sherlock…"

"Yes, what did I just say?"

"Fine… I'd say some kind of sociological science…"

"But?"

"Psychologists talk to other people. I'd say criminology, but it wasn't invented by then, as far as I know."

"Wrong, John. It was, although there were only eight universities that ran the course. But it wasn't criminology."

"So what was it?"

"Law."

"…what?"

"Law."

John tried very much not to chuckle. He did not succeed.

"Really?"

"Yeah. It was dull."

"As expected. So you finished your course, what then?"

"I didn't."

"Sorry, what?"

"I didn't finish it. It was too boring."

"So how much of the course did you do?"

"One and a half year."

"And then?"

"You don't need to know."

"I believe I do. Anyway, you said it yourself, that flatmates should know the worst about each other."

"Is that all?" Sherlock's tone suddenly became colder. John realised he was on a dangerous ground now, but he decided to take the risk.

"I also want to know possible reasons for the recent drug bust on our flat."

"That is quite simple." Sherlock relaxed slightly. "You know they don't like me at Scotland Yard. It was an attempt to release their frustration, that's all."

"For God's sake, Sherlock, you know perfectly well that police cannot storm a house with no good reason. Did you or did you not have anything to do with drug dealing?"

Sherlock looked at him angrily, but John continued his rant.

"I may not be as observant as you, but I'm not blind. When you hushed me after I started joking about it, you were worried that they would discover something. So I want to know, was there anything to be discovered?"

"All right, John, have it your way." Sherlock sighed and looked at his flatmate wearily. "On my second year at uni I ended up with the wrong kind of people, that's all," he stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Really?"

"Of course not."

"So what then?"

"I was bored, I wanted to try new things and I was already banned from the laboratories."

"Sounds like a decent reason to me." After a while John added. "For someone like you, I mean. So you started with drugs. What was it? Cannabis? Ecstasy?"

"Cocaine."

"Oh…" John glanced sideways, wishing he could end this conversation right now. He could not. Not at this moment, anyway. He decided to get a little bit side-tracked. "And how did you meet Lestrade?"

"That's a long story."

"I can't believe you want to sleep, it's hardly 4:30."

"I was a witness in a big affair."

"What was it?"

Sherlock did not reply for some time, his mind wandering.

"What affair was it?" John repeated.

"Oh, some bombing incidents."

"When was it?"

"During my second year at uni."

"Right… so you were a witness. Why?"

"I tried 'helping' police before that, when I was a kid. I was ignored then, but this time I felt that they would listen to me. And they did, fortunately for them."

"And how did you help them?"

"I had some evidence, and also acted as a link between them and my family."

"What had your family… It was your father, wasn't it? He died in one of these 'incidents'. He worked for the government, and now Mycroft tries to follow him. He feels that he owes it to him, doesn't he?"

For a moment Sherlock looked at him in astonishment.

"How…?" His voice was careful, and his eyes were scanning John's face over and over again.

"Sherlock, look, I've spent two years in Afghanistan, I met many people who came there for many reasons. Some of them wanted to fulfil their parents' expectations, to impress others, to make a point. I do know that kind of behaviour."

"I'm impressed, John," Sherlock said in a flat voice. "Excellent deduction."

"It's not deduction. It's empathy."

"So there was this bloody car bomb in Belfast, when my father was on business trip, and I acted as a witness to describe his relations with family and that sort of irrelevant stuff. Met Lestrade, helped him with the investigation, was quite successful. Anything else you want to know?" The detective said these words so quickly, that John sat there before him bemused for a few seconds.

"Not really, no… Thank you, yes…" he answered after a while.

"You're anxious, why? I thought you wanted to know it."

"I did, yes." John suddenly felt ashamed of his curiosity, and also naked, unable to hide secrets from Sherlock's careful eyes.

"John, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just… what Sergeant Donavan said, that 'one day they they'll arrive at a crime scene and you'll be the one who put the body there.' It's never going to happen. You wouldn't do that."

"John." Sherlock interrupted him gently. "Don't listen to what she says in the future."

"I won't. I definitely won't."

"I would ask you for your reasons to ask me about my life, but…"

"But?"

"I already deduced the answer from your reaction. Please try not to give in to curiosity, it's a dangerous drug."

John smiled at him, relieved.

"It wasn't the only reason, though," he pointed out.

"So what else was there?"

"Oh, I really would like to know, what I need to hide in case we have another drug bust on our flat."

* * *

**AN: **Like it? Dislike it? Have any comments. Review, please:)


End file.
